


What's a Cat Bath Between Friends?

by Koikro55



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Bathing/Washing, Cat/Human Hybrids, Cute, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koikro55/pseuds/Koikro55
Summary: "Husk's gaze drifted slowly towards the shower looming in the far corner of the bathroom. His eyes met with those of a rusted showerhead. Husk felt gross, for sure… but he really hated showers. Especially ones with eyes."Husk is being a big kitten about showering, but Alastor is there to lend a helping hand... or tongue!
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Radiohusk - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 139





	What's a Cat Bath Between Friends?

Husk felt...

...absolutely… 

...fucking… 

...disgusting. 

He’d spent his first few nights at the Hazbin just sleeping at the bar, soaking his fur in half-evaporated liquor and cigarette ash. He’d not gone back to his own dilapidated apartment since before the extermination-- and honestly, it’d probably been lost to some other demon by now, believing Husk was killed in the recent mayhem.

He didn’t ask Princess for a room on the first night, even though he knew, _logically_ , that she’d probably expected him to help himself to one. She gave Husk responsibility for every key in the hotel-- though, he wouldn’t borrow one one without asking... and he wasn’t about to be the one asking, either. 

Husk never asked for help, and he expected it even less. 

On the third day of avoiding the issue, however, Princess ran into him as he awkwardly brushed his teeth in the staff’s washroom sink. So, Husk got a room at the Hazbin Hotel. It didn’t cost him his pride, but it did cost a day’s wages: Charlie had ordered him to take the day off to get acquainted with his new living quarters.

That day was today.

Husk stood on the soft, foreign carpet with all his worldly possessions in one paw- nothing more than a toothbrush and a rag he'd borrowed from the bar. In about three strides he was in the bathroom, throwing his belongings behind the bathroom mirror. 

Done. 

With nothing left to do for the rest of the day, he silently fought down the impulse to crawl back to the bar and beg Charlie to let him work another shift. He still had _some_ dignity left, after all.

To distract himself from his sorry state, he studied his monstrous, feathered physique in the bathroom mirror. He thought that his eyes, reflecting all the shiny surfaces of the bathroom, looked unnaturally creepy and large. His nose was too small, wet, and unevenly textured. His only skin was a thin, pink line underneath his lashes, just before his dense white fur began… fur which carried around decades worth of dust and smoke; souvenirs of his time in Hell. When he finally moved, he caught a whiff of his body odor. The stale, bleached smell of the long-forgotten room made his own musk more noticeable. Husk's gaze drifted slowly towards the shower looming in the far corner of the bathroom. His eyes met with those of a rusted showerhead. Husk felt gross, for sure… but he really hated showers. Especially ones with eyes.

Husk remembered the struggle of his first Hell-side shower; using any particular shower _for the first time_ was just one of the things that never got easier for the old cat. He only found frustration in decoding the hellish controls (every shower had its own bizarre control scheme) and getting the temperature right was near impossible. He hated how long it took to simply build up the courage to turn the damned thing on: the noise of the falling water always sickened him. After the first few attempts turning the shower on and off in a panic, he’d finally managed to get into the stream-- but his experience only got worse. The soap was painful to scrub underneath his delicate feathers, and he never got all the suds out again. He hated just moving around while his feathers dried, and a damp smell still lingered in the densest parts of his fur all these years later. 

Husk blinked the tears out of his eyes and reminded himself that having a shower was a normal thing that normal people did all the time, and that something so simple shouldn’t bother him at all. He approached his hotel room’s shower and, to prove it to himself that he could, turned the circular handle a quarter inch. 

It squeaked. Badly.

Husk watched a weak piddle of water splash onto his open palm, which he only really used to keep the droplets from smacking too harshly onto the plastic shower floor below. He could stand for this, but the little droplets of ice would not be comfortable to clean himself with. He let his paw get cold as he debated on if, and how, he should make the shower warmer. Had he turned the water the wrong way? Is this one of the stupid circular knobs that needed to be turned twice? Was the shower simply not strong enough to let the water get hot? 

“You’re pathetic. You’re honestly pathetic,” the shower told him with its big, dumb, judgmental eyes. Why the fuck did everything have eyes? Husk felt a little better to be a huge cat-beast rather than a painting frame or... an entire hotel.

Husk, sufficiently distracted by thoughts on whether the Hazbin was alive or not, turned the tap again and let the piddling turn into a gushing, icy downpour.

He lasted three seconds.

Husk was sooner lying down on his bed, listening to the rhythmic dripping of the showerhead as he came to terms with the fact he would not be taking a shower today, tomorrow, or probably ever.

But… he still felt gross.

Worse than gross,

_Icky._

He hadn’t notice at first, but the sound of his tongue combing through his feathers alerted himself to his unfortunate instincts-- he’d started _grooming_. Being alone in his own room with nothing else to do, though, he figured it’d be okay to take some indulgence. Two hours passed this way. His tongue had gotten dry, and he’d only licked half the places he could reach before his back got awfully tired. What he’d managed to clean, however flexible he is, wasn’t quite everywhere that needed it. He certainly couldn’t lick his own face, or reach behind his back. The daunting shower only promised to make things worse. 

He wet a rag in his sink and tried to maneuver the cloth between his feathers. It hurt, mostly, but he still couldn't reach behind his wings.

He needed a little help, but that would never happen, so he threw the rag into the sink and gave up. He went back down to the bar to pity himself. 

When Charlie saw him, she started on at him for returning to work. Husk recognized the fact she was speaking, but he could only focus on her small tongue flicking out between her teeth. Ah, another tongue was exactly what he needed… though, he didn’t want to make things more awkward between himself and the Princess today. He glanced up towards Vaggie, always at Charlie's back, and decided against asking there, too. He'd never asked for help, and he knew better than to ask a lesbian to lick his face. His eyes move over to the bar… Angel Dust. 

Perfect. 

The spider would know exactly how to use a tongue. Husk paused to consider Angel’s rates and then quickly shook the thought out of his head: he wanted to feel _cleaner_ , not _dirtier_ … and he had NO idea where that pornstar’s tongue had been recently. He distantly wondered whether Niffty would help spray him down with some Febreze when Alastor’s swishy red coat flickered into his view. 

Oh.

Well, he knew where **THAT** tongue had been. Probably down between some poor demon’s flayed-open ribcage. Alastor caught Husk staring at him from across the room and stared back pointedly until Husk became self conscious. Husk got the heebeegeebees when Alastor’s smile flashed with genuine mirth and the cat quickly spun around to walk back to his room.

Alastor followed him like a predator stalking down his prey. Periodically, Husk turned back to check Alastor was still walking with him. Each time, Alastor stopped in place-- as though he believed Husk wouldn’t see him if he stood still and smiled innocently. Husk figured it was his own damn fault for picking the room directly across from Alastor’s. Alastor now had plausible deniability whenever hunting him down.

Husk eventually got back to his own room and let Alastor slip behind him into his new bedroom.

“I love what you’ve done with the place!” Alastor exclaimed. Husk literally hadn’t done anything.

“Why are you following me?” he asked, not that he wanted to know.

“I thought you looked lost… like you needed some help.”

The showering experiment from earlier had broken down Husk’s pokerface. Alastor thought he looked like a pathetic little kitten. Delicious.

“I don’t want help from _you_.” Husk sat down on the end of his bed and scowled.

“My dear,” Alastor shimmered with mirth, “You may not like it, but I know you always accept help when it’s offered.”

Husk eyed him down. Yeah, okay, maybe he did.

“I just… I need a bath,” Husk sighed, defeated.

Alastor raised an eyebrow and took a step into the bathroom. Seeing that Husk only had a shower, he easily rectified the problem. So what if Husk’s new bathtub had a row of sharp teeth and seemed to be spitting blood from the drain? Aesthetics!

“All done!” Alastor smiled triumphantly, “Was that so hard?” Alastor met Husk back in the main room, but Husk’s sullen expression confused him.

“What’s’matter, boy?” Alastor scratched under a distracted Husk’s chin before Husk pulled his head away from him.

“I don’t wanna get wet,” Husk grumbled.

Alastor rolled his eyes. His kitten was such a… a…. cat!

“How are you going to have a bath without getting wet?” Alastor mocked, “What do you want me to do? Lick you?”

A beat of realization passed overhead as Husk looked intently at the floor with embarrassment.

“O… ohhhhhh.” Alastor’s radio voice crackled and cut off with a low “off-air” buzzing which accentuated the awkward silence. 

Husk cleared his throat, “I _don’t_ want your help with a cat bath,” he said.

“Why not?” Alastor almost sounded offended.

“You don’t have a cat tongue, for one.”

“You ought to know that I’m very talented in regards to verbal gymnastics,” Alastor plastered a smile back onto his face, “A regular silver-tongued demon, they called me in life! My articulation is magnificent!”

Husk didn’t doubt it.

“How ‘bout I audition?” Alastor offered, instantly summoning his microphone to his hand and taking a deep inhale. 

“No. Stop,” Husk rested a claw on Alastor’s staff. He wasn’t about to let Alastor ruin his day off with a loud, obnoxious musical number that would turn his room into harsh neon colors. If only to prevent this tragedy, Alastor needed to keep his mouth busy in Husk’s fur, well, that was the compromise Husk would have to make.

"Why would you even want to help me with this?" he asked.

"Husker, dear, do I smell like a man who adores showers to you?"

"Uhh," Husk sniffed the air cautiously and realized the stench of despair and rotten carnage he'd attributed to Hell was really just Alastor. "Not in the slightest."

"Exactly! No one understands your problem better than I do, dear. Please... accept my help," Alastor unfurled his claw at Husk, but no green magic accompanied his request.

After about ten minutes of the most awkward terms and conditions Husk had ever negotiated, Alastor sat behind Husk on his bed and began combing the cat’s fur between his sharp yellow teeth. He seemed to be taking his sweet time at it, too.

“You'd better not be eating it,” Husk grumbled at him.

Alastor didn’t respond.

“Don’t blame me when you’re hacking up a hairball, dumbass.” Husk huffed indignantly, but silently laughed to himself. He hadn’t really been groomed in a while, so losing a bit of fur felt amazing

After some time, Husk straightened up and fell backward into Alastor’s lap.

“You can start on the face, now” Husk hummed bossily. “And I counted my whiskers beforehand,” he added. Alastor gave a disappointed sigh, as though his plans had been thwarted. 

Having Alastor’s face so close to his own felt… awkwardly intimate. It didn’t help that Alastor had given up licking between his feathers to plant little kisses on his cheeks instead. 

“Stoppit, you suck at this.” Husk playfully swat at Alastor’s face.

“I’ve never sucked at anything,” Alastor defend himself, easily dodging the lazy swipe.

“Maybe you should try it sometime” Husk joked, but his only reward was Alastor muffling him under a pillow.

“Dirty kitty,” he scolded Husk. “Though I’m sure I can amend that filth… with a _real_ bath,” he threatened half-heartedly.

Husk didn't respond, so Alastor peeked under the pillow. The cat’s face was frozen in a look of abject horror. Alastor, far from being a kind or sympathetic person, laughed so hard that tears formed in the corner of his eyes. 

“That’s not funny.” Husk eventually shook himself out of it. “I hate your sense of humor,” he pouted.

Alastor finished his giggles and placed a quick, apologetic kiss on the cat’s lips. “Sorry,” he said sweetly before returning to his task. Alastor was always a little shit, to say the least, but he knew when to be a genuinely good friend. A long while passed comfortably under Alastor's slow, diligent grooming. 

“Would you ever wanna do this again?” Husk asked quietly, half hoping that Alastor wouldn’t hear him.

“What would I be getting for it?” Alastor’s voice came muffled from Husk’s bountiful chest fur. Husk’d already cleaned there himself, though Alastor seemed to be enjoying himself too much to say so.

“I don’t know… maybe…” Husk tried to think of something Alastor liked, but he seemed to not have many interests beyond tormenting people.

“Maybe I won’t spit in your drinks anymore?” He offered.

Alastor hummed disappointedly, “But I love it when you do that,” he said.

 _Of course you do,_ Husk thought to himself.

“Would _you_ like a cat bath, then?” Husk asked, grasping at straws.

Alastor looked thoughtful.

“Maybe... just my ears,” he said. Husk cocked an eyebrow.

“I thought you said those were _hair_.”

Alastor shook his head, “I only say that so people won’t ask about my tail.” 

Husk's eyes went wide.

“Can I--” 

“No.” Alastor deadpanned.

“Eh, worth a shot,” Husk shrugged and relaxed further into Alastor’s lap. He'd started nodding off to sleep before Alastor changed their position for the umpteenth time. Husk noticed, though, Alastor never went anywhere below the waist-- that was fine, however, because Husk could reach all of that, anyway. Alastor eventually arranged them into a modified spooning position (Husk'd always been taller than Alastor, really, but the little deer insisted on being the big spoon anyway) and went back to focus on Husk's ears. After some time, Husk thought Alastor had fallen asleep. Feeling squeaky clean for the first time in decades, Husk turned himself around and snuggled tightly into Alastor’s restfully rising chest. If he took a few experimental laps at Alstor’s neck and stole a little kiss on his chin, no one would know.

Except that damned shower, laughing at him with those creepy fucking eyes through the bathroom’s open door.

Yep, Husk really hated showers.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a Kudos if you liked it! 
> 
> And maybe a comment if you want :3??


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